I arch a brow, skeptical. His gaze flicks to my father again, debating whether to say something more. Finally, he takes another step forward, his hands slipping into the pockets of his jeans.
“I wanted to apologize again for my . . .”
Papà, ever perceptive, turns at that moment, his sharp eyes twinkling as he takes in the scene. He doesn’t speak, but his presence shifts the energy in the room, grounding it somehow. Diego’s gaze shifts between us again, and I can see the question forming on his face before he voices it.
“Is this your father?”
I hesitate, unsure whether to indulge his curiosity, but Papà beats me to it.
“Yes, my boy. Please come in.”
He motions toward him.
It’s the wrong thing to do.
He has no idea this is the student I was venting about. I cringe inwardly, remembering how he never adhered to strict office hours. If a student stopped by needing guidance and Papà was available, he welcomed them, no matter how inconvenient the timing was. It was one of the many reasons he often came home so late. A practice I don’t follow.
His eyes widen, and disbelief flickers across his unguarded features. The fluorescent light catches on faint bruising near his left temple, no doubt from the trouble his attitude recently caused him.
“You’re Dr. Raffaele Rossi!”
Astonishment fills his words as he moves closer to my father, who’s extended a gracious handshake in greeting.
“The Dr. Rossi? I didn’t . . . you two are . . . wow. Why didn’t I put that together?”
This shocks me.
For all his arrogance, Diego Kahale has just revealed that he’s far more cultured than I suspected.
He shakes his hand too vigorously for my liking, and I step forward to break it up. A slow smile crawls onto his face, the fluorescent light hitting the shiner just right.
“Two Rossis. You’re shitting me.”
7
DIEGO
I stand there, momentarily frozen, gripping the hand of a legend. A brilliant man related to the most frustrating woman I’ve ever had the misfortune of having as a professor.
“Language, Mr. Kahale.”
She tosses that long brown hair over her shoulder while scolding me, and I mumble an apology. However, her father is unbothered and offers a gentle smile.
“And your name?”
The echo of Dr. Rossi’s voice reverberates in my head. Meeting him. Meeting the Dr. Raffaele Rossi is beyond anything I expected when I decided to apologize to Professor Rossi again. Not participating in class and undressing her the entire time made my cock hard as carbon. Still, my guilt was as overwhelming as a runaway exothermic reaction, spiraling out of control no matter how desperately I tried to contain it.
“This is Diego Kahale, a student who shouldn’t be here right now.”
Her scolding tone matches her face when I fail to respond. Too in awe of this man. His rough hand slips from mine, gesturing to a stool opposite the table from him.
“Please have a seat.”
“Papà, you don’t have to entertain him. So, if you would please . . .”
She points to the door, indicating that I have to leave before I finish my apology. Thankfully, her father has more mercy and dismisses her with a wave of his hand.
“Cara, please. A student in need cannot be turned away.”
